Blank Canvas
by Tears of Ebon-Grey
Summary: A collection of one-shots / drabbles... (12) She tasted like honey on his tongue...
1. Spider and the Fly (Klaroline)

_I absolutely love the idea of drabbles and short stories or one-shots. Often these little inspirations pop into our heads when we least expect it, or when we're working on other projects and they inevitably get stuck there and in the way. _

_This will be my outlet, as it were, for getting these ideas on to paper (or screen) and out of my head. _

_I'm open to suggestions if anyone has any._

_Pairings can be anything from Klaroline to Carenzo to Steroline or Kennett. I'll give anything a shot and pairings do not have to be romantic in the slightest. _

_Happy Reading!_

* * *

**Spider and the Fly**

"There was an old lady who swallowed a fly. I don't know why she swallowed that fly," Caroline smiled airily, her voice a melodious giggle. She tilted her head slightly to the left, beautiful blues bright and buoyant in her child-like happiness. "Perhaps she'll die."

Caroline twirled, her hands twisted outward as the sun beat down on her skin. The warm rays burned sweetly, their soft sizzle charring the beautiful porcelain of her doll-like facade.

"There was an old lady who swallowed a spider that wriggled and wiggled and tickled inside her," she sang, mindless to the pain as she watched the angry burn spread across her skin. "She swallowed the spider to catch the fly but I don't know why she swallowed that fly. Perhaps she'll die."

To die.

She wondered what it was like to die.

Would she die if she swallowed a fly?

Perhaps she'll try.

Caroline laughed gaily as strong arms pulled her harshly out of the sun.

"There was an old lady that swallowed a bird. How absurd, to swallow a bird!" she grinned, twirling in his arms, watching with morbid fascination as bits of her skin fell to the floor, blackened snowflakes that smelt like scorched meat. "She swallowed the bird to catch the spider that wriggled and wiggled and tickled inside her. She swallowed the spider to catch the fly but I don't know why she swallowed that fly."

Angry eyes met her careless blues and she giggled happily, leaning forward to press her seared lips to his soft plush ones. Caroline smiled merrily, skipping out of his embrace. She looked to the door, to the sunlight and tilted her head in contemplation.

"_Perhaps she'll die_," she sang, body dancing toward the rays.

His hands pulled her back, twirled her away and she laughed happily.

It was a game.

Their game.

She'd run and he would follow.

She'd cry and he would wallow.

She'd dance and twirl and sing, and he'd swallow her whole.

The spider to her fly.

Caroline giggled.

_Perhaps she'll die_.

Such a pretty game they played.

She liked games.

Not Augustine games – no, their games were mean and she didn't like them.

But this one – this one she liked.

"There was an old lady who swallowed a cat," her eyes danced merrily across his features. "Imagine that, she swallowed a cat! She swallowed the cat to catch the bird. She swallowed the bird to catch –"

"The spider that wriggled and wiggled and tickled inside her," his voice was low and calming, all she'd ever wanted to hear.

He got it.

He got her game.

"She swallowed the spider to catch the fly. I don't know why she swallowed that fly."

"_She will not die_," his voice sang softly, resolutely.

Caroline frowned, a childish puzzlement marring her features.

That wasn't how the song went.

His hand lifted to caress the side of her face, fingers curling around her loose hair, the golden strands tangled in their strength.

His hands were warm and hard as they forced her to look at him. She didn't like looking at him. It made her sad, for some reason, and she didn't like being sad.

Sad was bad.

"She will not die," he repeated softly.

Caroline frowned.

_She will not die_.

Her mouth opened, tears brimming in her eyes as she finally, _finally_ saw him.

"Klaus," she breathed out, hands reaching for his arms. He looked so sad, so understandingly sweet and she hated it. "How long was I gone for?"

"Not long love."

A while then.

She hated this, hated that he had to take care of her like this. She'd been reduced to a child-like monster, uncomprehendingly insane, dancing back and forth between reality and the sweet dream-like world she'd created in her head.

They'd broken her.

Destroyed everything that she ever was.

It would have been better if she'd simply died.

Died.

_Died. _

Caroline giggled.

"There was an old lady who swallowed a fly. I don't know why she swallowed that fly..."

* * *

_A tad morbid, I know. My goddaughter was singing the song and I just couldn't get it out of my head..._


	2. The Way You Make Me Feel (Klaroline)

_Not as morbid this time, I promise. _

_This short piece was inspired, in part, by Michael Jackson's song _The Way You Make Me Feel.

_Happy Reading!_

* * *

**The Way You Make Me Feel**

_Hey pretty baby with the high heels on, you give me fever like I've never, ever known.  
You're just a product of loveliness. I like the groove of your walk, your talk, your dress.  
I feel your fever from miles around. I'll pick you up in my car and we'll paint the town.__  
Just kiss me baby and tell me twice, that you're the one for me..._

Klaus smiled darkly at the lyrics as he watched her from his perch at the bar. She was oblivious to his presence, free and untempered as she twirled on the dance floor without a care in the world. Her white summer dress fanned out around her, golden curls a tumble of silk and lips a scarlet red. She was the picture of loveliness, a sweet and innocent young girl with the spark of a hidden devil in her eye. Klaus grinned at the picture she painted.

They were drawn to her like a moth to a flame. How could they not be when she looked so lovely, so sweet and corruptible as she swayed her hips _just so_ to the music on the dance floor? Boys who saw the innocence, who saw the tempered fire beneath the careless dance and wanted a taste. He would have torn them to shreds if hadn't known her game.

She was a wolf dressed in sheep's clothing.

She was not the prey.

Caroline smiled sweetly at one of the boys and Klaus watched their exchange with a wry grin.

"You're not from around here are you, doll?" the fool spoke, his words a stumbled slur, hands reaching for the pretty blonde temptress as she twirled away from him, her hips swaying to the rhythm.

Caroline giggled girlishly, the sound so sharply false that Klaus leaned forward with interest. How would she play this, he wondered.

"Nope," her lips curved into a coy smile, fingers trailing down the stranger's chest.

The man grinned. "How old are you?"

"_How old are you_?" she mimicked, leaning forward slightly, her hand curling around the collar of his plaid shirt.

Klaus wondered how many times she'd played her part. It was curious, maddening, and yet strangely thrilling to see her this way. Time changed a person, especially a young vampire. This was not the naive little girl he'd left back in Mystic Falls. Oh no, this was her as she was always meant to be.

A predator.

He tilted his head, eyes scrutinising the curve of her lips as she whispered in the boy's ear. Klaus grinned at the show, downing the rest of his drink as he watched them leave out the back door. He moved slowly, careful not to be heard as he followed them outside, a shadow among the shadows.

She was positively glorious.

Caroline moved on instinct, swiftly pushing the unsuspecting fool against the side of the building. Her eyes dilated, the expression on her face no longer one of sweet innocence but of a woman impatient and tired of the hunt.

"You will not scream," her voice was low and hard. "You will forget everything when I'm through with you, do you understand?"

The boy nodded dumbly and she reached forward, hand pushing his face into the cold brick wall. She moved quickly, eyes a rippling black as she buried her fangs into her little lamb's neck.

Klaus waited a moment, enthralled by the dark beauty whose wings would forever be white to him, before coming out of the shadows, his hands slowly clapping a measured applause. Her spine stiffened in response.

"I'm impressed, love," he spoke with a measure tone, amused by her momentary pause. "Quite the act you have going there."

Caroline turned on her heel, hands readjusting her denim jacket, as she looked at him. Her eyes sparkled with a sort of sweet indifference that was not really indifference at all, but a mask she'd concocted to protect whatever it was she truly felt at his presence.

"It works," she replied with a nonchalant shrug, waving away her confused meal with a swipe of her hand.

Klaus folded his arms and smiled in amusement, watching as the boy scurried away. "No doubt."

Her eyes slowly travelled the length of his body as she inspected him, looked for some sort of change that would not be found. He raised an amused eyebrow at her perusal and she simply shrugged, unbothered by his attempt to fluster her.

Oh no, she was not a naive little girl anymore.

"It has been a while," he remarked casually, trying to gauge her reaction.

She moved toward him, the echoing click of her heeled boots resounding in the silence of the alleyway. Caroline moved with a predatory grace, her painted nails trailing up his chest not unlike they'd done with her meal earlier. Klaus daren't move as she looked at him through her dark lashes, the glint of a challenge in her eye. Her mouth pursed beautifully as she leaned forward, her lips resting just below his ear.

"Not nearly long enough," her whispered response took him by surprise as she leaned back, eyes locking with his own.

She smiled at him alluringly, a tempestuous siren whose fire would burn. Klaus pushed her harshly against the brick wall, lips capturing her provocative red ones. Her nails bit into his arm as she pushed back, flipping them around so that she was in control. Lips crashed like the waves of a violent storm and he was lost, lost in her and her lips, her scent. She was his drug and as her teeth dragged at his bottom lip, cutting lightly the soft flesh, he was lost to her addiction.

Caroline pushed at his leather jacket, hands frantically moving to rid him of the offending article. He moved to flip them once more, fought against her control, but she bit down hard on his lip, a low growl erupting from her throat. He could see the veins beneath her eyes rippling under the surface. Before he could comprehend she was at his throat, fangs buried deep. Klaus groaned lowly as she drank, the pulling drag of her mouth, the closeness of her body making him too weak of will to push her away. His hands went beneath her shirt but she pushed them away.

"Love –"

She hushed him, pulling away from his neck with a satiated smile. She looked at him sweetly, a hand reaching to cup the side of his face as she leaned in, lips brushing gently against his own.

Caroline smiled against his lips, her voice a gentle whisper on the wind. "See you in another fifty years, Klaus."

He opened his eyes at the teasing tone, hands reaching forward to grasp the vacant space where she'd been not moments before.

She was gone.

Klaus laughed unexpectedly, looking up and down the alleyway, as realisation began to set in. He picked up his discarded jacket and swung it over his shoulder, shaking his head lightly.

She'd played him all along and he'd loved every moment of it.

He was the lamb and she the wolf.

_See you in another fifty years, Klaus. _

It was a date then.

* * *

_Feedback is golden. _

_Hope you're all enjoying Klaroweek!_


	3. Raising Hope (Rebekoline)

_Just a little fun scenario that popped into my head._

_Happy Reading!_

* * *

**Raising Hope**

"Rebekah, why do you have a _baby_?!"

The blonde's eyes narrowed as she tried to rock the crying child to sleep. "Well I didn't steal it if that's what you think."

Caroline stared uneasily at the original, her arms folded in sceptical doubt. It wasn't her fault she'd been minding her own business, treating herself to a weekend away from all the drama back home. Mystic Falls had become too dark a place for her summer break. Her mother was on crutches, Elena was on mental crutches as she barely managed to keep it together and Stefan and Jeremy – well, suffice to say she deserved one weekend to be selfish, one weekend of blissful normalcy with no vampires or werewolves or witches to deal with. All she wanted was one weekend away where she could pretend that everything was alright, where she could fool herself into thinking that her world hadn't actually imploded.

Instead, she got Rebekah and a crying infant.

Of all the bloody coffee shops she'd had to choose...

"Do you even know what to do with a baby?" Caroline asked with a raised eyebrow as the little bundle screamed louder. "You're jostling it."

Rebekah looked like a wild animal, eyes maniacal as she rounded on her. "I'm _trying_ to rock her to _sleep_."

"Well obviously you don't know how, otherwise –"

"I know how to take care of my own niece goddamn it!" Rebekah spat, wincing as her exclamation drew louder and more fervent cries from the small child.

Caroline blinked.

_Niece?_

The blonde original stopped suddenly, eyes wide as she realised her mistake.

"_Oh shit._"

* * *

"Did you see that?" Caroline nudged her in the ribs, rather hard actually, and pointed frantically in the distance toward the sand pit. "That little shit stole her toy."

Rebekah rolled her eyes at the outrage in the baby vampire's voice. You'd think that someone had magically popped out of the sand and done a hula dance while dressed as Santa Claus or something equally as ridiculous. But no, another toddler had simply mistaken Hope's toy fire truck as his own. Which, in all honesty, wasn't necessarily a bad thing. She'd been trying to get the little girl to play with one of the dolls she'd had specially imported from Paris for a week now. But of course, _Caroline _had to go and buy some cheap piece of plastic and Hope absolutely loved it.

It would have all been so much simpler if she'd just snapped the annoying blonde vampire's prissy little neck that day in the coffee shop. It's not like she'd known Caroline Forbes would become her personal shadow, or that she'd magically show up one day suitcase in hand ready to 'help her' or whatever. Rebekah hadn't needed her help – not really – but from what she understood about Mystic Falls and all that had happened, she didn't really blame the girl for running.

"Rebekah," Caroline pushed again and she rolled her eyes. "_He took her toy_."

Looking up from her book, the blonde original smiled tartly at the overly neurotic expression on her companion's face. "If you're so worried about that bloody fire truck then go take it back. It's not like a stolen toy is going to traumatise her."

"Elena took my limited edition Polly Pocket when we were five," Caroline confessed softly.

Rebekah took a deep breath.

She should have just snapped her neck.

* * *

"Caroline?" tiny hands pulled at her dress.

With a soft smile she looked down at the little blue-eyed girl, whose dark brown ringlets poked out beneath her school cap. Her hands stilled, the freshly laundered sheets forgotten at the inquisitive little frown on the five year-old's face. Hope looked far too sombre for a child whose rambunctious nature and wilful temper made her a naturally happy, if not demanding, child. She was so much like Klaus sometimes it was almost frightening.

"What is it, cricket?" she asked, looking up to raise a questioning eyebrow at Rebekah.

The original simply shrugged her shoulders and continued to potter in the kitchen. Judging from the smell, she was trying – and failing miserably – to make brownies. Again. Caroline grimaced at the thought of the last batch and the acrid taste she and Hope had feigned pleasure in eating. Some people were just not meant to cook.

Ever.

The little girl innocently looked between her and Rebekah. "Do you and Aunt Bekah loves each other?"

Rebekah coughed in the kitchen, coffee cup suspended mid-air.

Caroline frowned and opened her mouth in surprise at the innocent seriousness of the question. "What makes you ask that?"

"Well, Micky has two mummies and they love each other."

The choking sound from the kitchen caused Caroline to smile despite her mortification.

Rebekah looked at her, eyes wide in horror. "Oh god! They think we're _lesbians. _The other parents must think that you and I – that we – "

"What's a lebsian?"

Hope's question, her childish innocence and Rebekah's pure mortification made Caroline burst out in laughter.

* * *

Rebekah stook awkwardly outside the bedroom door, her hand frozen mid-knock. She'd known something was wrong the moment Hope had burst through the front door. The girl had thrown her school bag carelessly at the wall, the impact of which had dinted the plaster, and promptly fled to her room, door slammed shut with a resounding 'stay out'! Rebekah was in half a mind to yell at the little chit for the wall, she'd followed her quickly to the room, an angry reprimand on the tip of her tongue when she'd heard the muffled cries.

Her heart constricted at the sound.

"Hope?" she knocked lightly, ignoring the muffled 'go away', and quietly opened the door.

The young girl was curled on her bed, brown locks buried into her baby blue comforter. Her shoulders heaved with wracking little sobs and Rebekah swallowed thickly, trying to bury her own despair at seeing her niece so upset. You would think that after twelve years, she'd get used to the tears.

You never got used to seeing your child in pain.

Moving quietly toward the bed, Rebekah lowered herself to sit beside the crying child, her hand gently rubbing the girl's back in long soothing strokes. "What's the matter, sweetheart?"

"Nothing," Hope sniffed, turning to roll onto her back. She stared up at the insistent disbelief on her Aunt's face and sighed. "Helena was being a bitch."

Rebekah raised her eyebrow at the young girl. "Language, Hope."

"Well she was," the young girl sniffed indifferently, pushing herself to sit up. Hope palmed away the tears on her face, mouth puckered unhappily. "She said that the only reason you and Caroline were taking care of me was because my real parents didn't want me."

Rebekah frowned darkly.

_Helena was a dead girl._

In maybe five or so years, Rebekah didn't exactly 'hurt' children. It was a moral choice.

Besides, Caroline would probably kill her if she ever went near the little shit.

Then again, she might insist on it.

"You're right, Helena is a _bitch_," she agreed, watching the small smile form on the girl's face. Rebekah leaned forward and lowered her voice. "I'll let you in on a little secret, bub. Nobody loves you more than your mother and father."

Hope looked strangely insecure at the words, hopeful of their truth. "Then why did they send me away?"

Rebekah wasn't good at this sort of thing. This was Caroline's domain. Emotions, the real hard stuff like the whole 'where do babies come from' debacle of 2022. But no, little miss had decided to fly to Rome for Elena and Stefan's wedding.

The chit.

"Because they love you," she answered simply and hoped that it was enough.

* * *

"Red light. Red light. _Red light!_"

Caroline pushed herself back into the passenger seat, face ashen as the brunette pulled the car to a screeching halt at the traffic lights.

Hope smiled cheekily, her mouth tilted into a sharp smile that was all Rebekah. "I'm not colour blind, Caroline."

Why had she let Rebekah talk her into teaching the little she-devil to drive?

Was she that gullible, that goddamn stupid?

Yes.

Apparently she was.

"You could have fooled me," she mumbled under her breath, closing her eyes as the lights turned green. "Now, just gently ease your foot onto the accelerator and –"

_She was going to die_.

* * *

"_So_," Hope slid into the seat beside her, brown hair curled perfectly as she painted her nails to match her dress for Prom. "I hear there's a story about you and dad and a prom dress."

Caroline growled, hands fisting in irritation. "I'm going to kill your Aunt."

Blue eyes and dimples stared back at her, unfazed and nonchalant.

"If you don't want to tell me that one, then how about your graduation? Aunt Bekah says it's positively vomit inducing," the teenager smiled sweetly, the blues of her eyes dark with mischief.

Rebekah Mikaelson was dead.

So dead.

Like _beyond_ dead.

* * *

Klaus watched in disinterest as Matt Donovan strolled idly down the pathway toward him, doppelganger and Ripper in tow. It was amusing really. They needed his help, he'd said. Elena had been bitten by the Lockwood boy. She needed his blood etcetera, etcetera. Truthfully, Klaus couldn't care less. The only reason he'd agreed to help was in the hope that he would see Caroline, but sadly his favourite siren was not among the party to greet him.

He did as they asked, gave the little whelp of a doppelganger his blood – at least Katerina had had a fire to her, an unquenchable desire for life; Elena was a poor substitute and Klaus found himself almost missing the Petrova bitch – and went to move on his way, rather disappointed in truth, when the former quarterback stopped him.

"How's Caroline?" the boy turned man asked after the others had left.

Klaus frowned at his words. "Why do you ask?"

He had no clue why Donovan would ask _him _for information on Caroline's welfare.

"I just haven't heard from her in a while," the man shrugged his shoulders and gave him an easy smile. "I thought Rebekah might have called you is all. I mean, they've been travelling together for what – like eighteen years now? I still can't believe that they haven't killed each other..."

Klaus tuned out the human's voice as a strange sensation bubbled in his chest.

Rebekah and Caroline.

His daughter would be eighteen now.

Klaus smiled in realisation.

Rebekah and Caroline, _and Hope. _

"Well, I'll be damned."

* * *

_Love it or hate it?_

_Let me know. _

_And don't forget, I'm open to suggestions if anyone has any. I'm still plugging away at the next chapter of **Sweet Dreams** don't worry ;)_


	4. Hope Falls (Hope centric - Klaroline)

_Ask and ye shall receive. _

_This turned out so differently to what I'd originally planned, but I'm kind of happy with it._

_Happy Reading!_

* * *

**Hope Falls**

She was dead.

Like on a level of dead and _totally dead_, she was so far beyond totally dead that it wasn't funny. It wasn't like she'd really had a choice in the matter; it had been totally Peta's idea to steal the car and all she'd done was sit in the passengers seat. She'd simply been the unwilling victim of one too many vodka tonics. She couldn't be blamed for being too inebriated to say no, now could she? It wasn't like she'd actually _driven _the car.

Sure, they'd hit the light pole and that god awful minivan but in all honesty, it wasn't like they'd actually meant to. That had to mean something, right?

"Hope!" the angry yet panicked voice of her mother filtered down the bright hospital corridor.

_Wrong. _

So wrong.

She stood up to meet the frantic woman, watching with grim apprehension as angry blue eyes and wild blonde curls rounded the corner. Hope smiled weakly, hoping, praying to every God she had ever heard of that the resounding click of the second pair of heels didn't herald her aunt's arrival. She could deal with Caroline; all she had to really do was be sorry – and she was sorry! So unbelievably sorry – and her mother would let her off with a hug and a hard reprimand.

Aunt Bekah on the other hand...

"What the bloody hell did you think you were doing?" the woman stormed past Caroline, who'd stopped at the end of the hall with a small frown on her face. Hope's eyes pleaded for help, but she simply shook her head. She was on her own this time. "You could have been killed!"

Hope raised an eyebrow at her aunt's choice of words, recoiling at the disapproval she saw on the other woman's face.

"I was drunk," she confessed with a slight shrug of her shoulders, trying to play down the gravity of the situation.

It didn't help that Peta's family were down the hall waiting for their daughter – her best friend, her _only _friend – to come out of theatre. Hope knew that she couldn't be killed, not easily anyway.

Peta though...

Tears brimmed in her eyes as she looked up at her aunt. "I'm sorry."

"You should be. This type of behaviour is completely unacceptable," the blonde woman's voice sounded loudly down the quiet hospital corridor. "Hope, you're nineteen years-old. I expect better –"

Caroline's small hand reached around to clasp her shaking one and the blonde looked up at her aunt, a sad smile on her face. "Not now, Bekah," she shook her head. "Not now."

Hope closed her eyes at the sound of her aunt's soft sigh and her mother's answering explanation.

Peta was her friend, her best friend and yet, she was _so much more_.

* * *

"This isn't healthy," Caroline's voice filtered through the doorway and Hope looked up from her pile of blankets on the floor.

She shook her head, numb to her concern. "I don't care."

Why should she?

Caroline moved into the dark room and lowered herself onto the floor. She crossed her legs awkwardly and reached forward to play with a loose strand of Hope's dirty brown hair. Hope tried to shy away from her comfort. She didn't need her mother's pity or her understanding.

"It's been three months, cricket," the woman whispered softly and Hope blinked back dry tears at the use of her childhood nickname. "You have to come out of your room sometime. What about college?"

What about college?

It was a farce to think that college was anything but a norm society imposed on young adults as a means to 'do something' with their small, pathetic little lives. Hope was a hybrid, a witch; college meant nothing to her. She could study whenever she wanted, wherever she wanted. Life outside these four walls really didn't matter anymore.

She didn't want to go out. She didn't want to face the reality of life on her own.

Sure, she had Aunt Bekah and Caroline.

But they didn't really count.

They'd always been there, the two starkly different women at the helm of her happy dysfunctional childhood. Rebekah had always been her aunt, a sort of stand-in mother figure from time to time, but Caroline – Hope had always secretly thought of her more as her mother of choice. She'd never met her biological mother, Hayley, and maybe it was because of the women in her life, the two mothers she already had, but Hope had never really been inclined to think about her all that much.

Her father, on the other hand...

"I want my dad," she confessed brokenly, leaning forward to bury her face in the crumpled blue silk of Caroline's blouse.

The woman breathed softly, the rise and fall of her chest, the warmth of her arms as they wrapped around her, was a cool balm to the pain raging inside.

Maybe she wasn't so alone.

* * *

"I don't care if it's _not safe_," Caroline's voice whispered harshly and Hope paused at her door.

She was only going to grab a blood bag from the fridge. It was a sort of sneak-in and sneak-out in the middle of the night type mission to avoid the two women and one of their infamous 'pep talks'. She didn't really need a pep talk.

She was coping just fine on her own.

Sort of.

Caroline continued with a desperate edge in her voice. "What the hell does safe even mean in the world we live in? We're vampires, Rebekah. She's _never_ going to be safe."

Hope smiled softly at her mother's argument.

She'd always hated being treated like some precious little doll. She wasn't some porcelain mannequin that would break at the slightest touch.

"Nik asked me to protect her –"

"She just lost her girlfriend. She needs her father."

Hope slowly backed away from the door.

What was the point in caring anymore?

Peta had died. Her father didn't want her.

So what was the goddamn _point _of it all?

* * *

"Hey bug," a soft voice whispered through the darkness and Hope felt a gentle hand shake her. "Wake up."

She opened her bleary eyes, blinking as bright blonde curls framed the shadow standing above her. Hope looked at the figure, gently bathed in light from the open doorway and sleepily frowned, hands rubbing away the sleep from her eyes.

"Caroline, what –" she started to ask why her mother had decided that a 2 AM wakeup call was entirely necessary, when her eyes caught a slight movement in the doorway and she froze. A tall figure leaned against the frame, one half of his profile visible in the dim light. Hope opened her mouth in surprise, a small voice, a hope-filled one, so childlike and so unlike her asked. "Daddy?"

She looked from Caroline to the figure in the doorway, the pressure in her chest increasing when the blonde woman nodded with a small smile and the man – her _father _– swallowed thickly at the title. She scrambled from beneath the covers, frantic and a little too desperate, and ran into his arms. The force of her impact took him by surprise and he stumbled back as she buried her head into his shoulder, hands fisted in the dark material of his shirt.

For the first time in a long time, Hope felt almost happy.

"Shh, it's alright," his low voice made her cry harder. He sounded just as she'd always imagined him to, just as her Aunt Bekah and Caroline had described. "I'm here now."

* * *

"So, you like women then."

Caroline coughed into her coffee cup at her father's overly nonchalant statement. Hope smiled into her cereal bowl, lifting a spoon to hide the amusement on her face. She lightly shrugged her shoulders in reply.

Maybe she did. Maybe she didn't.

She'd loved Peta though.

"Nik!" Aunt Bekah stood in the kitchen with her spatula – it was lumpy pancake Tuesday – with an outraged expression on her face.

Her dad threw her a charming little wink before rounding on his sister. Hope grinned happily from her seat at the table, breakfast forgotten.

He was so... she wanted to say perfect.

But then again, _he was her dad. _

All she'd ever really wanted in her young life was to meet him, to know where she came from, to know _who _she came from.

"Don't be so prudish little sister. I distinctly remember a time where you dabbled in –"

"I am not prudish," Aunt Bekah scoffed, her spatula branded ridiculously. "Some things should just remain private, like that time you and – what was his name? – Gascon went on that little hunting trip back in –"

Caroline choked on her coffee.

Her father frowned. "I believe you've made your point."

Aunt Bekah simply smiled and leaned against the counter, a sweet maliciousness on her face.

"Caroline and I –"

_Nope. _

She was out.

She did not want to know.

* * *

Hope watched as the duo walked through the door, separate and yet so together it was almost sickeningly sweet to watch their pointless facade. It's not like she hadn't noticed the way her father looked at Caroline. It's not like she hadn't noticed the way Caroline looked at her father. Honestly, a blind man could see that they were shagging.

And a deaf man could most certainly _hear _it.

"We need thicker walls," she remarked casually, eyeing the pair with a raised eyebrow.

Hope smiled in satisfaction at the look of mortification on her mother's face as she walked past them and into the kitchen, placing her bowl in the sink. Her father's answering laugh caused a sputtering series of exclamations.

_It's not funny. _

Hope disagreed.

It kind of was.

* * *

"What are you smiling at?"

Hope looked up at the curious expression on her Aunt Bekah's face and simply shrugged.

Was it wrong to be happy in the wake of such tragedy?

Hope wanted to believe that it wasn't wrong. Her pain hadn't simply vanished with time; it was always there, a slow burn that ached in her chest. She felt it when she saw her Aunt Bekah and Caroline laughing, or when she caught her father gazing absentmindedly at the beautiful blonde. Hope felt sad and happy all at once. She'd lost her first love and yet, in the wake of her pain, she'd gained the one thing she'd always dreamt of.

A father.

A family.

_Her family. _

A neurotic blonde for a mother, a quietly psychotic hybrid for a father and then, well – nobody could replace or forget her crazy Aunt Beks.

What more did a girl need?

* * *

_Love it or hate it?_

_Till next time ;)_


	5. Little Red (Klaroline)

_I know that the Red Riding Hood theme has been done for this couple quite a lot, but I personally have never really read any of the works. _

_So, this is my contribution to the craze. _

_Happy Reading!_

* * *

**Little Red**

He had been out in the woods, somewhere west of Salem, when he'd heard the gentle crunch of young feet meandering across the forest floor. It was a sound that brought back images of his younger brother, with his careless tread and his childish enthusiasm. Klaus knew the sound of prey when he heard it. He also knew the sound of a child who had wandered too far.

The full moon was nearing its apex and Klaus wondered briefly why he should care. The child was not his to fret over. And yet he knew, as the soft tumbling words of some silly little song reached his ears, that he did worry. Concern was born from the image that festered in his mind; his youngest brother, little Henrick, whose body lay torn at his feet. Brown locks that fell limp, eyes that saw none but his creator and the image of the beast who'd torn into his flesh with gnawing pleasure.

After nearly a thousand years, the image of Henrick's body had never left him. Nor had the sound of the wolves who'd torn him to shreds. And, as the haunting wave followed, the low howl of the creatures he'd come to observe once more sounded in the night air, Klaus found himself moving toward the stumbling little lamb. He followed her sound, the sweet small lilt of her voice as it caught childishly on the lyrics.

He was a creature born of hate, a man split in two, searching for a way to break the curse that bound him. Klaus had heard of the Salem wolf pack, heard of their savagery and baser nature. Even in their human form, they coveted the flesh of their prey. He had been curious as news had spread of their bestiality, of the disgust which the witches and others of their kind spoke with. Klaus had come to watch them turn, to watch their flight into madness and instead, he found a little lost lamb.

He watched as she kicked up the leaves of the forest floor, a child of six at most. She wore a bright red parker and a charming little floral dress. The hood of her parker was pulled up, but not so far as to conceal the tumbling blonde curls that fell forward. Klaus found himself watching with a sort of fascination as the little creature drifted from tree to tree, a wood nymph clothed in mortal flesh.

A howl ripped through the darkened silence and he grinned as the little girl spun around and fell forward. He could see the burgeoning fear in her bright blue eyes, her face a stark white in the darkness of the night. She shivered and Klaus almost, _almost, _left her there for the wolves to find.

It was not his fault that Little Red had wandered too far.

That was what he'd decided to call her.

She walked in panic, lost and all alone; a child sacrifice to the thrumming beast of hunger and flesh, whose sinew muscles coiled to attack. He watched the white wolf crouch at the sight of her, its golden amber eyes feral and fearless. It was Henrick's face he saw as he silently moved behind the wolf and snapped its neck.

Klaus moved as the night went on, silently killing that which saw to snuff out the sweet little light that trampled through the forest. He guided her toward the exit, breaking a twig here and throwing a rock to steer her away from the monsters that wished to 'gobble her up'. She was a sweet thing, so small and so bright, fearfully determined despite her tears not to cry out.

He watched as Little Red ran for the house on the edge of the forest, smiling wolfishly as a man ran through the door at her tiny cry and swept her up.

Such a sweet little lamb.

He would probably come back and eat her one day.

* * *

"Are you even listening?" her honey sweet voice sang of annoyance and sufferance.

Klaus turned with a tempered grace, watching the gentle rise and fall of her naked chest as she reclined against the bright yellow pillows of her childhood bed. He raised an eyebrow at her lack of modesty and she simply shrugged her shoulders with a wry smile. It's not like he hadn't seen it all before.

Caroline eyed him, a hand reaching for the picture frame he had grasped in his hand. "I love that photo," she sighed, taking the picture from him as moved back onto the bed.

Klaus watched as her blue eyes danced across the photograph, a sad smile of bittersweet longing etched onto her lips. "We travelled up to Salem to see my father's mother when I was probably five or six. I got lost in the woods next to her estate. I was so stupid; I wanted to see the wolves. My dad was so mad when he found out what I'd done. The next day we went out for ice cream and it was the _best day_."

Little Red.

Hair as soft as silk, smile as bright as day with her little red parker and fearful determination.

Still a sweet little lamb.

_His _little lamb.

How strange to wonder what had become of the foolish child. How strange to see her tucked beneath his arm, beautifully raw in her comfort, sensually languid in the aftermath of their fifth mistake that week. Klaus smiled wolfishly down at the pretty blonde, tugging the picture from her hand. He gently discarded the treasured piece, eyes drinking in the floral dress and red parker and happy smile before turning to the grown beauty on the bed.

He would happily play his part.

The Big Bad Wolf.

_My, what big teeth you have?_

His mind recalled the fairytale and he grinned.

* * *

_Hope you enjoyed it. _

_Feedback is golden!_

_Till next time ;)_


	6. Rather Be (Carenzo)

_I love Klaroline - they truly are my OTP - and yet, I can appreciate other pairings as well. _

_This is a little Carenzo drabble following the TVD season finale. _

_Happy Reading!_

* * *

**Rather Be**

He knew the moment she walked through the door. The sweet honey verbena of her scent wafted through the dark, dank little pub like a breath of fresh air and he drank it in, relished the tease of its promise. Enzo wondered if she tasted as sweet as she looked; the bright little spark that lit up the room, that kept his and all of their darkness at bay. It was surprising and yet, not at all unexpected, that she would walk into this fine establishment_. Ray's_ was a dive, but it was his dive and he'd made it his home for the last week and a bit.

Coming back from the dead wasn't all it was cracked up to be. He was down a drinking buddy. Even though Damon had killed his girl, ripped her head from her gorgeous little body, Enzo missed him. He'd had time to think over there, had time to watch as his ex-best friend and murder buddy tried desperately to repent for killing Maggie. Enzo knew that the vampire was sorry and a part of him, some small sliver of humanity that was left behind, forgave the bastard for killing his girl.

Enzo had planned on drinking and payback, on laughter and tears and possibly a right hook to arrogant bastard's jaw.

He'd planned on forgiveness.

Not mourning.

She perched her pretty little arse on the stool next to his and turned to face him. She waited patiently, hopelessly and without point. He ignored her insistent blues and took a languid sip of the cheap whiskey, relishing the burn as it slid down his throat. Gorgeous could wait all day and all night if she wanted to – Enzo was not moving.

He'd been a soldier once, a lifetime ago; war had made the world seem simpler back then, no shades of grey just good ol' black and white. Even as a lab rat to the good ol' Doctor Grayson and co., Enzo had had more sense of what was right and what was wrong.

Damon Salvatore had killed, quite possibly, the one woman to ever drive him to be better; Maggie had made him _want _to _live._ He should hate the bloke and piss on his bloody grave. Instead, he wanted to cry.

Lorenzo Guilo _did not_ cry.

So instead he drank.

Her lithe little hand plucked the tumbler from his and she lifted the glass to her lips, downing the liquid with a sharp raise of her eyebrow and a wince. Her expression, one of sour disappointment and regret, as she looked down at the empty glass with distaste made him grin for the first time in nearly a week.

"Cheap whiskey isn't meant to be enjoyable, sweetheart," blue fire glared back at him and Enzo couldn't help but laugh. She was gorgeous all riled up, like a small kitten who thought her claws were bigger than her paws. "How about you leave the drinking to the professional and scamper back to your little rag tag group w_here you belong_."

Her eyes hardened at his words.

Such pretty fire.

If he let her get too close, she would burn him.

"Day drinking doesn't suit you," she sniped, flicking her loose hair over her shoulder. She levelled him with a stare, her gaze so scrutinising, so painfully careful in its perusal that Enzo found himself almost uncomfortable. "And neither does attacking Stefan."

_Ah_.

So there it was.

The real reason she was here.

Stefan _bloody _Salvatore.

The broody bastard had deserved his right hook, Enzo firmly believed that.

You didn't just _stop. _You didn't just _give up. _

Enzo had watched Damon fight to bring his baby brother back. The sudden role reversal and the younger Salvatore's effort left something to be desired.

"Can't say I didn't enjoy it," his voice was low and harsh, a sharp challenge in his eyes as he stared down the pretty blonde.

She could judge him all she liked; Caroline Forbes didn't know him.

Even though a small part of him wanted her to.

She reminded him of Maggie. Oh, the two women looked different, so starkly opposite in their appearance. No – it was their nature, their shared sense of morality and life. He'd been drawn to Caroline not just because of her looks. Both women were beautiful, inside and out; Enzo had always loved a good girl. There was something so tantalising about that kind of innocence, something so beautifully sweet about such incorruptibility.

Perhaps, he simply wanted to be saved.

"You're not the only one hurting, Enzo," the impassive mask she wore slipped slightly and he saw just a glimpse, a glimmer, of the broken girl beneath the facade. "We all lost someone."

The Anchor.

He'd almost forgot – he _had _forgotten about the pretty little dark-skinned witch who'd saved his hide. It made him feel worse, made the pain sharper in his chest.

Enzo swallowed thickly and nodded his head, lips pursed. "I won't apologise for hitting him, if that's why you're here," her pretty little lips puckered, a sharp retort on the tip of her tongue. "I _will, _however, apologise for Bonnie. I'm sorry you lost your friend, Caroline. She was a good sort."

He watched her fire slowly deflate.

She looked so lost and so small sitting there with her shoulders hunched forward, eyes blinking back unbidden tears. The rawness of her mask slipped and he scooted closer, taking pity on the broken blonde and signalling the bartender for a bottle of the cheapest, nastiest whiskey he had. Cheap whiskey was never meant to be enjoyable, but the harsh bite of the alcohol as it slid down the back of your throat helped ease the pain. It was horrible and ridiculously stupid, probably the unhealthiest coping mechanism on the planet, and yet it was the one thing that made him feel better.

And he wanted to make her feel better.

He grabbed the bottle from Ray and poured a shot into the empty glass beside the young vampire, nudging her with his knee. She looked at him so strangely, eyes dancing across his face, before taking the glass and downing the liquid.

Caroline coughed, her eyes watering. "That's awful!"

Enzo laughed and poured her another.

"It works, gorgeous," he smiled at her, watching as she hesitantly down the second offering. She needed this more than he did. Ever the resilient friend, ever the linchpin of her pathetic little group; Caroline Forbes was just as broken as the rest of them and she deserved to get bloody well sloshed. Enzo grinned. "Besides, we all need a little awful in our life. It's how we know to appreciate the good."

The blonde girl smiled at him softly, the light in her eyes masking her pain – or maybe that was the alcohol taking root, working its dastardly magic to numb her brain and all the rampant thoughts that flittered in and out of view.

He could see her sadness, see her fire; Enzo desperately wanted a taste.

"You aren't all that bad, you know?" she smiled, draining the darkness from the room with the simple curve of her lips.

He wondered if she knew the effect she had on people.

On monsters, like him.

Like the hybrid he'd heard so much about, but never laid eyes on.

He wondered if she loved him, her hybrid; or was it Stefan who held the beauty of her affections?

He'd be happy for scraps, for but a sliver of her love.

Enzo could see that to be loved by her was to be loved unconditionally, to be granted light and laughter and sweet verbena. She was sad and broken like the rest of them, but more resilient than any of them gave her credit for. And here she was, drinking piss-poor whiskey with him in some godforsaken pub off the beaten track.

He leaned forward, his hand gently resting on her knee. She looked down at the offending touch with a small frown, but as he moved to pull away – rejection stung – her hand held his there. Enzo raised an eyebrow and she smiled.

"Like I said," Caroline tucked a loose curl behind her ear. "You're not all bad."

"Careful, gorgeous," Enzo grinned, watching as she poured them both another drink. "It might start to sound like you actually _like me_."

Caroline licked her lips and quickly downed the whiskey, a playful glint in her eye. "The whiskey's gone to your head if you think I find you even remotely tolerable."

"And yet here you are," Enzo laughed, gesturing at their surroundings with a dark smile.

Caroline tilted her head.

"And yet, here I am."

And wasn't that just the kicker.

Enzo promised to forget, to forgive, to _move on_ – hell, he'd bloody well apologise to Stefan if that's what it took – but only if she followed.

He extended his hand, downing the last of his drink and waited.

He'd take her away, if she'd let him.

Caroline had to only take his hand.

* * *

_It's up to you if she took his hand. _

_Or maybe, it's up to me; I am considering a follow-up piece._

_Till next time ;)_


	7. Hopeless Wanderer (Carenzo)

_Decided to write this short little follow up to '_Rather Be_' while killing some time at the airport. _

_Flight delays are the bane of my existence right now..._

_Happy Reading!_

* * *

**Hopeless Wanderer**

Cape Horn was beautiful.

There was something so lush about the landscape, something so calming about the waves that crashed along the shoreline and the dense greenery of the rolling forest behind her. Caroline felt lost, almost as if she'd been pulled into some fairytale land where sirens and wood nymphs danced from ocean to forest and tree to sand. It was enchanting and mesmerising and so very c_alm_, so very sweet after all the pain she'd endured.

His hand was warm and reassuring as he guided her down the forest track.

Caroline knew that she should feel guilty. She'd left her mother, whose rehabilitation was going poorly and was stuck on crutches; she'd even abandoned Stefan and Elena when they needed her most. Caroline had left a warzone for the hypnotic sweetness of the forest. She'd run, tail between her legs and whiskey on her breath.

It was easier to run than to stay.

She'd seen enough death and experienced enough pain to last her an eternity. Caroline w_anted _to be selfish. She wanted to be careless and free, selfishly happy and blissfully unaware of anything related to her old life. She wanted to live and to run, to go back to the naive, vapid cheerleader she'd been before becoming a vampire.

Caroline wanted it all to go away.

Her father's death.

Elena's breakdown.

Stefan's rejection.

Bonnie and Damon.

_Klaus. _

Caroline wanted to erase it all, to mend the bleeding lines etched into her heart. Each name bore pain, each memory a scar; Caroline wanted to forget them all.

It was why she'd taken his hand.

He'd known. The moment his eyes locked onto hers back in that dive of a bar, he'd _known_.

She was a broken girl.

A sad girl whose life amounted to a series of catastrophic events.

Caroline needed a change. She needed to get drunk, to dance and laugh and just get away from it all.

And so did he.

Cape Horn _was_ beautiful but it was the company, the sharp teasing smile of the man in front of her, the way he tormented her, the way he made her forget, that made her guilt fade away and their adventure seem so much more exciting than it was. Caroline was not a 'nature girl'; she liked beaches and shopping centres, old buildings and architecture. But she'd follow him anywhere just to feel as free as she did now.

He'd rented them a cabin, he said.

Somewhere they could wind down and forget about life outside the four wooden walls surrounding them. They could get drunk, build a fire, dance naked through the woods if they wanted to.

She knew he wanted her.

She could see it in the way he looked at her; feel it in the way his hand gently caressed hers as he guided her to their new home for the week.

He only had to lead and she would follow.

Caroline was done being strong.

Enzo made her smile.

He made her laugh.

She didn't love him.

But she could.

She'd shed the past and grow a new skin.

The possibility of love was a beautiful insanity and it led her to a new life, one without pain or regret.

Caroline was determined to actually _live, _not as a helpless wanderer bound by loyalty but as a girl exhilarated and free.

She was going to _live. _

With him.

Enzo.

And she was going to be happy.

All he had to do was lead the way.

* * *

_Hope it wasn't too horrible. _

_Let me know what you thought. _

_Feedback, as well as prompts or suggestions are always welcome. _

_Till next time ;)_


	8. The Phoenix (Carenzo)

_Another little attachment to _Rather Be_ prompted by the fact a few of you wanted to see a future piece with Klaus thrown in the mix. _

_Happy Reading!_

**The Phoenix**

* * *

_Put on your war paint._

* * *

It had taken him twelve years to get her to Paris.

She'd been so set, so staunch in her determination to avoid the city that he'd almost given up on trying to get her there. It had made no sense to him at the time. Here was a girl so passionate and so fierce, so full of life and laughter, of spirit; a girl of fashion and poise and giddy excitement – the very thought of her disliking Paris was apocalyptic in every sense. He might as well have drowned himself in the River Thames when they'd meandered through London last spring.

Enzo had tried everything he could possibly think of. He'd shown her pictures of the Champs-Élysées lit up at night, all the bright little lights sparkling in a row. Paris was the city of love, of excitement and wonder and culture and pure, genuine beauty. His words had fallen on deaf and seemingly heart-stricken ears. She'd hated it, hated his words; Caroline had thrown a lamp at his head the moment he'd opened his mouth.

It had made him wonder.

She was young and yet old, privy to a type of pain he knew only too well. His words made her think, made her wonder 'what if'; it was the strained look in her eyes that made him push back. She'd been his companion, his friend, his lover, his reprieve from the world. Cape Horn had only ever been the beginning of their journey together, of their flight from the world. He'd taken her places she'd only ever dreamed of, helped her run from it all.

Not once had he stopped to ask questions.

Not once had he stopped to wonder why.

It had been so easy falling for her, almost too easy to fall into the trap of her blue eyes and sharp teasing smile.

They'd run and never once looked back.

Except when he spoke of wanting to see Paris in the summertime.

She'd thrown a lamp at his head, so he'd thrown the past back in her face.

It was the hybrid who'd ruined her, who'd ruined Paris and Rome and Tokyo for her overly young and eager heart. As she'd screamed at him, insults flying off the tip of her tongue, Enzo had understood then the depth of her pain.

Forever was a very long time to wait for a 'last love'.

It was a good thing he didn't believe in any of that crap.

Ten years to Rome.

Eleven for Tokyo.

And now Paris.

Twelve years and not once had the bastard shown his face... until now.

Enzo had known the moment they'd walked into the bar. He'd sensed the presence behind them and watched as she danced among the crowd as dark blue eyes followed her every move. He'd kept back, keenly aware of the lithe figure whose eyes drank in her every curve and every curl. It was to be expected, he supposed. At one point or another, the hybrid would show up.

Enzo had never seen his face before but she'd described him somewhere between throwing a plate at his head and throwing him up against the bathroom shower. She'd been so scared and so ferocious in her determination to distract him that night, to make him stop asking the questions she'd buried the answers to so long ago.

And now, here he was.

Enzo flexed his fingers and tried to quell the rising anger bubbling away in his chest.

Caroline couldn't know he was here.

If there was one thing Enzo knew it was that the power of 'what if', the sweet temptation of a chance not taken was sometimes almost too inviting to say no to.

He'd been a betting man once, a long time ago.

Not now.

Not when he finally had something to lose.

"I'd appreciate it if you took your eyes off my wife, mate," Enzo slid into the seat next to the hybrid and watched the show of surprise blossom on his face. He kept an eye of the dancing blonde in the distance, happy for once that she was distracted enough not to notice where he was or who he was threatening for a change. "Otherwise you and I might have a problem."

The way he arched his brow, the sharp curve of his lips and the violence in his eyes told Enzo he had the right man and the wrong monster to deal with. He didn't mind being David to this bastard's Goliath, not when Caroline was on the line. He trusted her, his wife – and wasn't that just the kicker, this being their honeymoon and all – no, it was Klaus Mikaelson he did not trust.

The timing was too perfect, too random not to be staged. She'd think it was fate, or maybe she'd see right through the farce.

Enzo wasn't willing to take the chance and find out.

"Leave."

The hybrid looked at him, lips curved into a derisive smile as he casually took a sip of his drink. "Careful Lorenzo, one might think you were threatened by my presence."

Enzo swallowed thickly, eyes darting to his happily oblivious wife on the dance floor. Champagne and her inebriated state was a godsend right now. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised that the hybrid knew his name. If he wasn't so shit scared, he might have been impressed.

"Is it not enough that she's happy?" Enzo persisted with a false sense of bravado, trying to keep the fear from his eyes. The way the man's blue eyes flickered uncertainly gave him his answer. "_I get it._ She's something else, something – words don't do her justice."

They watched her weave through the dancing mass, a careless breeze of summer light in the darkness. She was _his _everything, Enzo could see that in the way the hybrid's eyes watched her.

He almost felt sorry for the bloke.

"I love her," Enzo continued calmly, resolutely, drawing the man's attention back to him. "And she's _my _wife."

_Not yours_.

The way he looked at him, the careful consideration and the hard mask of his face, so immobile and so staunch gave Enzo no indication of what the man was thinking. His poker face was un-bloody-believable.

The hybrid tilted his head and nonchalantly downed the rest of his drink. "For now."

_For now?_

Enzo felt his hackles rise and instinctively squared his shoulders.

"Is that a threat?"

"No," the hybrid stood, a friendly smile on his face as he patted him on the shoulder, leaning close. His voice dropped low, tone sharp and hard, and whispered so quietly he almost didn't hear the words over the heavy thrum of the music. "It's a promise, _mate._"

Enzo could do nothing but watch as he sauntered away from the bar. He was struck by the man's words, by the surety of his promise. Enzo stared dumbly at the empty space where he'd been, a strange sort of numbness settling in his chest.

Forever _was_ very long time to wait for a 'last love'.

And that man had eternity to wait for her.

A small hand tapped him on the shoulder from behind and Enzo jumped.

Blonde curls danced in front of him, strong sinew arms winding around his neck. She smiled at him, hips swaying to the music.

"Dance with me."

As she smiled at him, that sweet oblivious smile, so happy and so carefree, Enzo knew what he had to do. He was not a betting man, not after everything that had happened. It had taken him twelve years to get her here, with him.

She was _his _wife.

And he'd be damned if went down without a fight.

* * *

_I hope you all enjoyed this. _

_The next chapter of _Sweet Dreams _should hopefully be up in a couple of days. _

_Till next time ;)_


	9. Too Old to Die Young Now (Katherine)

_Just a really small drabble that popped into my head while listening to the song _Too Old to Die Young Now _by Brother Dege from the movie _Django.

_Enjoy!_

* * *

**Too Old to Die Young Now**

Life was a bitch.

Katherine should have known, she'd lived long enough to know when life decided to squirt lemon juice in her eye. None of this lemons and lemonade nonsense; life was hard and harsh and brutal and when you had salt rubbed in your wounds, sometimes the best thing to do was bloody well cry.

And she wanted to cry.

Badly.

But she was Katherine Pierce and when life gave her lemons, she threw the lemons right back and told life to 'fuck off'.

She'd lived a hundred lives, danced a thousand dances and despite what they all thought, she'd _loved_ more deeply than any of them could possibly understand. She'd loved and been broken. She'd trusted and been betrayed, used like cattle for her blood.

Katerina Petrova was a weak girl, a _human _girl. She'd been too naive and too stupid to see beyond a charming smile and thankfully, that girl, that stupid hopeful chit had died a long time ago. Katherine Pierce was stronger, sturdier.

Lemons.

Salt.

Life could throw her a fireball and she'd swing right back.

Except now, she couldn't.

She was _dying. _

And suddenly, she didn't feel like Katherine Pierce anymore.

She'd lived too long and fought too hard to die young now. She'd had lifetimes ahead of her; places she'd always meant to travel to but never had the chance, things she'd wanted to experience, to see. Katherine Pierce had lived too long without truly seeing. Her fight, her flight – it had ruined her.

Life had given her a lemon shaped in the twisted form of humanity.

Lemons.

Lemonade.

Katherine watched as Elena prattled on, some stupid little heartfelt speech about an apology or forgiveness – she really didn't care to be honest.

Katherine thought of her daughter.

She thought of Stefan.

She was far too young and far too beautiful to die just yet.

And what a waste, for her to die an old maid, a shadow of the vitality and fire she'd once exuded.

Elena prattled on and Katherine smiled.

Oh yes, she far too old to die young now.

* * *

_Feedback is gold. _

_Till next time ;)_


	10. The Price (Klaroline)

_It has been a while, I know! I apologise but I have been extremely busy._

_Happy Reading!_

* * *

**The Price**

He listened as she sang, the sweet saccharine tones of a mind lost to insanity, of eyes that had witnessed too much. She'd broken upon impact, his brave bartender. Camille whose looks had been so reminiscent of the light he'd loved and lost and _craved. _So falsely brave and so resoundingly weak she was at the end.

She rocked, like a child, back and forth in her vigil. Her candle was lit and the prayers tumbled from her lips, a sweet song that sounded like cannon fire to his ears. So naive she was, so brave and so sweet and so broken. And yet, as he approached the blindly ardent human, it was not her loss of sanity or mind he lamented. It was the light lost, the sweet darkness he craved that had done this; once again, he nursed a battered heart.

She'd waltzed into town, a spark that lit the fire that set his kingdom ablaze.

Caroline had come to him.

It had not been a year or twenty as he'd imagined. A century had not passed, only six months. And yet in the six months since he'd last seen her, tasted her, _loved _her, Caroline had changed. Gone was the sweet innocence. In its stead stood a fiery blonde haired devil that took what she wanted, that saw and wanted and indulged, relished in and coveted, without pause. He'd been so struck by her presence that it had taken him a moment to realise that yes, this was Caroline.

Just not _his_ Caroline.

Gone was the light he loved. The bright, brave girl he'd known was dead. What stood before him was a replica of a shadow, a darker and harsher and beautifully scarring beauty that set his kingdom and his heart afire.

Bonnie Bennett was dead.

As had been Stefan.

It was the latter's rejection, the latter's fall into bad habits and brown eyes that had caused her to break. Elena Gilbert had broken her heart, so Caroline had torn out her liver.

Or so she'd said.

At first, he hadn't believed her. Klaus didn't _want _to believe that what she said was true. The humanity he'd love was gone as she'd flipped the switch and snuffed out all light. Like some fairytale villain, she danced through his kingdom no more than a pretty siren that brought his men to their feet and led them, painted nails and blood on her lips, to their deaths.

Caroline Forbes had broken.

She had shattered into a thousand tiny pieces and her payment, her price was too high. He'd watched as she'd kindled a fire and forced himself to stand back as she'd killed his underlings one by one. Klaus had tried to compel her to turn it back on, but she'd taken to drinking vervain. The burn was nothing when her emotions were gone, a fleeting pain with a timely reward.

He'd begged and pleaded, used every trick he had in the book.

Guilt.

Negotiation.

Reason.

Force.

Logic.

Blackmail.

Compromise.

Indulgence.

He'd tried what he knew and failed.

Until now.

_Jealously. _

Klaus felt guilt at knowing that he was to cause for the brave blonde's demise as he carefully knelt beside the praying girl. She seemed so small and so fleeting, but she had been his friend for a time.

"I'm truly sorry, Camille," he whispered, gently stroking her hair as words tumbled from her lips and she continued to rock back and forth.

He'd had to know that he could get through to her. Klaus had to know that the girl he'd come to love was not gone. Jealously was the spark that lit the fire, that kindled the embers that would burn his city to the ground.

Caroline had fallen, shattered like glass and no matter how many lives she took, no matter how many of his men she slaughtered, it had not been enough to pull her back to herself. It had not been the king's men to put Caroline back together again, nor the king himself.

It had been a girl.

Jealously was the paste that glued her back together, that tethered her to something he could use.

Klaus gently moved his hands to wrap around Camille's neck and twisted sharply.

Even if it took a thousand Camille's, a thousand blonde haired and blue eyed beauties to bring Caroline back to him, Klaus would pay in rivulets of their blood.

Such was the price of love.

* * *

_I am roughly 1/3 of the way through the next chapter of _Sweet Dreams_. I haven't had too much time in the past week to just sit down and relax and write, but hopefully I can have it up sometime at the end of this week or the next. _

_Feedback is always appreciated, so let me know what you thought of this. _

_Till next time ;)_


	11. The Fall (Steroline-unrequited)

**_Some of you mentioned wanting a prequel to_****The Price ****so,********_yeah - ask a ye shall receive! _**

**_This is not as dark as the previous chapter but more a snapshot of how Caroline came to turn her emotions off._**

**_Happy Reading!_**

* * *

**The Fall**

_Life was such a funny thing. One moment you were happy, so blindingly and wonderfully happy and then the next..._

* * *

Caroline swayed softly to the music, a glass tumbler tipped precariously in her hand. The low tones of the sweeping bass and the sweet saccharine temptation of the violin sounded through the boarding house like a siren call and spoke of a time long passed. She let the trombone take her away and the velvety soul of the singer lead her down a path she'd swore to herself never to walk.

Stefan had taken to day drinking and, as warm light filtered beneath the heavy drapes, Caroline supposed that she had too. It was easier to shut the windows and draw the curtains and drown in their sorrow. And yet, in such sorrow there was hope.

Caroline was too hopeful, almost painfully so.

She'd loved and been broken, trusted and been hurt. There was a time and a place for such hope and now was not that time. Stefan was hurt, his heart left bleeding from the pain of their loss. But then, so was hers.

She bled and cried and drank, and through it all she remained by his side.

He was her best friend.

He loved her.

And she knew, deep down, that he would not break her.

So she let him drink and tethered herself to his side, confidant in her belief that this was a passing phase.

He needed her.

So she was there.

* * *

"I think you've had enough, sweetheart."

Caroline tilted her head to look at the dark haired vampire with a bemused expression, pulling her hand and the tequila out of his reaching grasp. Enzo stared at her defiance with subdued concern and despite his worry, despite his ability to care, Caroline found herself scoffing at the show of emotion.

"No such thing," Stefan mumbled from beside her and she looked down with a small grin as he fell comfortably into her lap, the back of his head resting atop her knees.

Caroline resisted the urge to sweep away the stray lock of hair that fell into his eyes, content to return his cheeky grin with an indulgent smile of her own. She pushed down that nagging voice, the soft British lilt at the back of her mind that disagreed with him. The day Klaus became her voice of reason, her conscience was the day the devil danced a tango with Tom Riddle in hell.

It was Stefan who was good, Stefan who'd guided her through her pain and now, it was her turn to help him.

"Gorgeous?" she lifted her eyes to look at Enzo.

The look he gave her touched something inside, grazed across a part of her that she'd buried. He was concerned, eyes flickering between her and the drunken man in her lap lazily drinking from the bottle. She wanted to acknowledge the truth of his concern but couldn't, _wouldn't. _

Stefan would not hurt her.

* * *

"I think we may have a problem," his teasing voice caused her to stomach to jolt in surprise as he called up to her from the cellar.

Caroline smiled, glancing at her reflection in the mirror. Her make-up was in place, hair lazily but perfectly curled and a soft smile graced her painted lips.

It was their 'date night'.

Or rather, it was Tuesday's 'Pizza and Movie' night. Wednesday was 'Spaghetti and Twister' and then there was 'Pyjama Thursday'. It was an excuse, something silly they'd concocted somewhere between bad dancing to the Black Eyed Peas and the lazy sway of Frank Sinatra. And even though they were friends, even though nothing had been said explicitly to discount the notion, she'd taken to thinking of this night as their date night and not 'Pizza and Movie' Tuesday.

Caroline tilted her head and called down to him. "Oh?"

His head popped around the corner almost comically and she giggled despite herself. "I think we're alcoholics."

He lifted two empty bottles out for her to see and Caroline felt a light happiness fill her and she laughed.

* * *

She chewed on her bottom lip and stared at the quietly oblivious brunette. Caroline knew that Elena had to come back sometime. The fact that Alaric and Jeremy had taken her away after everything that had happened was a good thing. She'd had to grieve, to learn how to be by herself and to handle the emotions roiling inside her. Everything was amplified as a vampire, Caroline could attest to that. Lust was obsession, like became infatuation; she'd seen dislike turn to rage and rage into hatred and hatred into a destructive force that could rip the foundations of their small lives to pieces.

Caroline wanted Elena to be happy. She wanted her to move past this, to find something to hold onto, something to ground her and get her past the pain. And yet, as the brunette quietly spoke with Stefan, her head tipped _too _close to his, Caroline decided that she wanted the brunette to be happy _somewhere else. _

She and Stefan – they'd been doing just fine, coping in their own way before Elena had come back to town.

But now...

Caroline shook her head.

Stefan would not hurt her.

* * *

"Elena," Caroline looked anxiously at her friend as she painted her toenails on the bed, head down and quietly thoughtful. She'd been so quiet of late that Caroline didn't quite know how to approach her. "I think – well actually, I _know_ – that I maybe, sort of – I don't actually know how it started but –"

"Stop rambling," her friend laughed hollowly, trying and failing to appear herself. Her smile was a half grimace and it made Caroline feel all the more anxious as a result. "Just spit it out, whatever _it _is."

She had to do this.

Caroline couldn't not.

"I think I have feelings for Stefan," she spoke breathlessly, exhaling her tumbling nervous energy in one long breath. It felt good to be honest, to finally let the weight of what felt like some dirty little secret off her chest. At her friend's blank stare, Caroline hastened to elaborate, emboldened by the brunette's lack of outrage or rejection. "Of the _non_-platonic variety."

Elena simply stared at her, a vacant expression on her doe-like face.

"Oh," her friend responded, shoulders lifting in a half shrug. "That's...nice, I suppose."

Caroline tried to ignore the flicker of something – she couldn't quite place what it was – in Elena's eyes. _That's nice_, wasn't exactly the response she'd been expecting but she would take it.

It wasn't condemnation, so she would take it and blind herself to uncertainty in her own heart.

* * *

"Now I know this may be crazy and ridiculously impulsive but I remember you saying that you've never seen 'Bring It On' and let me tell you, as a cheerleader and your best friend, I feel that you should probably know the ins and outs of – " Caroline shook her head and grimaced at the mirror.

That wasn't right.

"Surprise," she smiled forcedly at her reflection, trying to ignore the neurotic spark in her eyes. "I bought Chinese. I thought you and I could watch a movie. I know we haven't been spending much time together now that Elena is back and –"

Caroline growled under her breath in frustration and looked down at the take away bag by her feet. She was over thinking this. It was just Stefan. He wouldn't laugh at her or reject her.

She couldn't have misread the way he'd touched her, the way his hand had glided down her back the other night as he'd led her to her car. He'd tucked her hair behind her ear; he'd spoken of her being always there, of her being his constant.

She couldn't misread that.

Caroline looked at herself in the mirror and squared her shoulders.

"Buck up, Caroline Forbes," she spoke to herself, eyes steely in her reflection. "You've got your big girl pants on now and you are _not _second best. You can do this."

* * *

Her hand stilled, fist curled and poised to knock on the old oak door.

She could hear them.

Caroline wanted to scream, she wanted to rage and fight and call foul.

She'd _told _Elena.

_She'd told her!_

And yet, despite the fury and the hurt she curled inward and felt something snap. As quietly as possible, she backed away from the door and left the Chinese and her sanity propped against the old wooden panel for them to find later.

She was done caring, done waiting for the right guy to put her first when the wrong guy, the worst guy, chose her time and again.

She was done.

She was _done_ living in Elena Gilbert's shadow.

* * *

The brunette stared at her almost pitifully, her brown eyes wide and disingenuously sorry. How pathetic to think that this was what she'd strived to live up to, that _this _was the poor mark she'd set for herself. It was not as though the brunette was singular; she was a poor imitation of an imitation that could do nothing but wallow and plead and promise the impossible.

"I never meant to hurt you, Care," Elena moved toward her, hand outstretched in what the blonde thought was supposed to be comfort.

It too was a poor imitation.

And really – as Caroline tilted her head and looked at the doppelganger – she had to wonder what she'd ever been afraid of. Here was a girl who'd taken too much, who'd played the doe-eyed damsel and won. But what was it exactly the girl was supposed to have won? An hour ago, Caroline would have said everything. She could remember a time where the shadow of Elena Gilbert had stretched too far. So encompassing it was, so suffocating it had been – and for what?

Caroline smiled tartly at the vampire and looked down nonchalantly at her fingers. "Don't be ridiculous 'Lena," she spoke so sweetly, so reminiscent of the happy girl who'd understood too much and forgiven more than the dull imitation could possibly imagine. She grinned at the eased tension in the girl's eyes. "_Of course_ you meant to hurt me."

The girl opened her mouth and shook her head in denial, some banal excuse on the tip of her tongue. But really, what time did she have to listen to excuses she'd heard time and time before? Caroline didn't care and relished in the freedom of it all. There was something so empowering, something so intoxicating about looking into those dark brown eyes and feeling not one ounce of emotion, not one flicker of care or concern or hurt.

It was pure freedom.

And she wanted more.

"No, I –"

Caroline cut the girl's protest off with a mocking hush and shake of her head, a finger coming to rest atop the doppelganger's lips. It would have been comical had the girl not bored her to death. Honestly, the more she thought about it the more Caroline missed the fun vivacity of Katherine Pierce. Sure she'd killed her and been the bane of her existence – of all their lives – for well over a year, but at least she'd been _fun. _

The blonde tilted her head and looked at the girl she'd stupidly called friend. Not that she cared, but the old Caroline had and call it what you will, but Karma always had a way of coming to bite you in the arse. It seemed only fair that she help Karma along.

* * *

"_What is wrong with you_!?" Stefan's voice cut annoyingly through the music in her headphones and Caroline sighed. It was to be expected, she supposed. Caroline continued to jog on the treadmill, languidly eyeing with satisfaction the distressed look on his face.

Karma was a bitch.

Besides, what was he moaning about?

Her liver would always grow back.

* * *

"This town will destroy you," the dark haired vampire offered quietly beside.

"Some might argue it already has."

* * *

She wanted fun and adventure, not the constant drag life had become.

They spoke too much, tried to reach the 'old her' with childhood memories that really were better left in the sandpit where they belonged. The woman she called her mother gave her such reproachful looks and really, who was this woman to judge? It was she who'd put such fairytales of princesses and knights into her head as a child; she who'd tried to kill her the second she became the monster that stalked the pretty little heroine in the night.

It was all rather dull in the end and Caroline was _bored_.

And what better way to alleviate boredom than to go to the one place she knew she'd get whatever she desired. No more interventions, no more sad soulful glances from the boy who'd broken her and the girl who'd ruined her.

He knew how to have fun. She remembered 'his fun' and their time in the woods with an almost feral grin.

It's not like he'd ever tell her no.

* * *

_Life was such a funny thing. One moment you were happy, so blindingly and wonderfully happy and then the next..._

_...the next, you were nothing but a lost girl who'd fallen too far._

* * *

**_Don't forget, reviews are golden ;)_**


	12. Stay With Me (Carenzo)

_I know I've neglected this for a while but in truth I've been so busy that my focus (when I do find the time to write) has been _Sweet Dreams_. _

_That being said, this was inspired by _Sam Smith_'s song _Stay With Me_ and is somewhat of a small present for _Lynyrd Lionheart_ for being so lovely all the time ;)_

_Happy Reading!_

* * *

**Stay With Me**

She tasted like honey on his tongue. He'd had but a taste of her, a taste of summer and sunshine and desperately craved the moment she deigned to give him more. He followed like a fool, waited like a god damn bloody beggar with his hand outstretched for the moment she said _more. _He lived for the moment she wanted to run, for the moment she wanted to forget and somehow found her way to his door.

He'd wanted her from the start. She was pretty and lively, a bubbly mass of blonde curls and curves with a sharp tongue and tart smile. It was the blue sass of her eyes, the sarcastic twirl of her hair as she flipped it to the side and disregarded him with no more than a passing glance. Maybe it was the chase, the fact that she _had _disregarded him as nothing more than a nuisance. He was Damon's friend, and didn't that just typify him as a drunken monster? He was rash and prone to temper, but a monster? No, he didn't believe in monsters anymore.

He was a vampire, but he was not a monster. He was not black or white, good or evil; the world and all its creatures could not be so simply stereotyped. He was simply who he was. A man who felt, who lost and loved and broke; Enzo was a man who'd done monstrous things but he was not a _monster. _There was always a little good in every lost soul – how else could it have been lost? No one man or woman was born a monster and so, by his reasoning, no man or woman could ever simply _be _a monster.

He'd had a brother once who'd died in the war. A father who'd drunk himself stupid at the loss and a mother who'd let the fool hit him. And yet, while they had the capacity to be _monstrous _they were not monsters. His brother had left to kill and his father had fallen at the loss, his mother numb to everything around her including her surviving son's desperation to simply be s_een. _

Not monsters – just lost souls.

Damon had never been a monster, even if he had ripped Maggie's head from her shoulders.

Caroline had made him see that, _she _who had lost more than them all. Somehow she'd made him see good and made him crave the beauty of her burning touch. The first time had been a mistake, a kiss of whiskey and sorrow that turned too quickly in a tumble of desperation between the sheets. It was supposed to be one time, one mistake. He'd come to crave her taste, just as she had come to crave his reprieve.

Enzo knew that she was running, and what a pretty little runner she was. How could he say no, how could he push her away when she arched so beautifully beneath his touch, when she cried so sweetly as he buried himself and his pain within her? Maybe they were both running. Or, at least he'd meant to run. Enzo had planned to bury the pain of Damon's death with alcohol and run from the reality of it all. No doubt she'd had a similar plan. They'd both run from reality, but somewhere along the way he'd stopped running _from _the world and instead started to run toward her.

She was sunshine and honey and light, and he bloody craved her like a man dying of thirst. Their one night mistake had turned into three and then six and then twenty, and somewhere between driving from Mystic Falls to New Orleans so she could tell the hybrid to fuck off, he'd realised he'd run too far and too close and somehow fallen for the blonde sass that drove like a maniac. Enzo wanted more and so he waited like a beggar, took what scraps she gave and hoped that one day he wouldn't be the distraction, that one day he wouldn't be her escape but her _choice. _

He wanted her stay with him, not because it was love – not yet.

But it could be.

If only she'd stay with him, stay in his arms and not leave like a sprite when her pleasure was satiated. She knew he wanted her, knew that he would give her whatever she asked and the waif used it to her advantage. He was not a monster and neither was she, but sweet little Caroline with her pretty plaits and cheerleader smile was just as monstrous as the rest of them. Her brand of poison hurt more, her torture cut deeper because she knew that he wanted to love her. She knew that he wanted her to _let him _love her but instead she used him up and made him want more.

If she could be so monstrous, then so could he.

He'd make her stay.

He'd make her _want _to stay.

He'd make her depend on him – she already did in a way – and then, when she was so secure and so set in her belief that he would always be there, Enzo would pull the rug out from under her. He'd leave and have her chase him as he did her right now. Why? Because the taste of honey was so sweet and he wanted the well to never dry up. He wanted her to himself, so he'd stack the odds in his favour and make it so that she could think of no one but him. He would make her crave him and only him; make her want to be his, forever his, to use and to love as he wished.

The temptation of love was such a monstrous thing, so heady in its capacity to make men cruel and women such poisonous creatures.

Maybe he was a monster after all.

But then, so was she.

* * *

_Thoughts?_


End file.
